


The Lion Tamer and the Strongman

by bironic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Bondage, Circus, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Friendship, M/M, Size Difference, Sort Of, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bironic/pseuds/bironic
Summary: "I think I know what you want, friend," I said to Otto, softly. "I would like to give it to you, if you'll have me."





	The Lion Tamer and the Strongman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetcarolanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcarolanne/gifts).



> For the prompt: "I love the idea of consensually 'bringing the giant down' - everybody believes this big muscular guy is an alpha male type who's stronger than everybody else, but he secretly longs for someone to put him in his place, using whatever means necessary. And someone discovers this secret! Who are they, and what happens? Bonus points if they're someone less physically powerful than the strongman! I tend to prefer M/m for this scenario..."
> 
> Thanks to **stultiloquentia** for brainstorming  & helping with a vocab question and to **v_greyson** for her German expertise.

I don't know how long Otto had been coming to watch me in the ring. Weeks? Months? Coaxing the lions through our carefully rehearsed act while playing up the drama to the gasping, cheering crowd required my full attention. But one night as I took my bows, I saw him there beside the wooden risers, and not even the shadows could hide the longing on his face.

Now that I knew to look for it, I caught him again at subsequent performances. Not every night, but often enough to prove the first incident hadn't been a fluke. Sometimes he watched me, sometimes the lions; always, he wore an unguarded expression of desire that left him as exposed as the striped leotard he sported while playing Otto the Ox.

Once, under the great tent in Paris, our eyes met. Otto ducked his head, a charming movement given his considerable height, then disappeared backstage.

He did not return to spectate for a long time after that.

I waited, mulling over these revelations rather than pouncing on them. One needed to be certain about a move such as this, and the last thing I wanted was to spook him, both because with his size and strength Otto could do me harm without intending to, and because he was my friend.

At last, on our final night in Orléans, when the camp had gone quiet beneath the stars, I gathered my implements and went to Otto's tent.

Although it was by necessity larger than most everyone's in the troupe, he nevertheless had to crouch to peer out of the flap. 

"Henri," he greeted me, his voice rough with sleep. Summer approached, and the air was pleasantly warm; he wore only his drawers. 

"I hope you will forgive the hour," I said.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement.

When first training a lion, you acclimate it to your presence by approaching it in increments over time, allowing it to decide whether and when to allow you into its territory.

"I think I know what you want, friend," I said to Otto, softly. "I would like to give it to you, if you'll have me."

Then I waited.

Otto studied me with caution. Whatever he did or did not see, the emotions flitting across his face settled into what looked like hope.

He stepped aside and held the flap for me.

I stood in the darkness until Otto lit a lantern. The wavering chiaroscuro exaggerated the contours of his impressive bulk, from the massive muscles of his thighs to the swell of his chest, the powerful arms that hung loose at his sides, his hands opening and closing as though he didn't know what to do with them.

We faced each other across the small table. Telegraphing my moves, I put my bag on the chair. Otto's thick ginger eyebrows drew together at the clink of the chains within.

"I heard Justine tell the other women how you lifted her as though she weighed no more than the wind while you coupled against the wall of the stables," I said. "I saw you pin Pierre to the ground during a wrestling match by the Loire as he laughed and you began to kiss."

Before I could continue, Otto's shoulders assumed a small but noticeable slump, and the hope in his expression ebbed, replaced by resignation. "You want me to hold you down." 

I shook my head. "You misunderstand my meaning, friend. That's not what you want, is it? Or not all you want." I lifted my chin. "The strongman, our beloved Ox, does not always wish to be the strongest. Sometimes he yearns for someone else to take charge."

Was it my imagination, or did his eyes darken?

"Yes?" I asked. I was fairly certain, but it wouldn't do to proceed if this were not, after all, what Otto desired.

He took a deep breath, that barrel of a rib cage expanding and relaxing.

"Yes," he confessed.

So much was contained in that one word. I felt a surge of affection and sadness for him.

I turned to the bag, remaining careful not to move too quickly. The first item I retrieved, the whip, I simply tucked into my pocket, although I made sure to let Otto see it as I did so. I had no intention of using it on him, just as I never used it on the lions; tonight, it held a more symbolic power.

I pointed at the low bed to his left. "Sit."

Otto stared down at me. He stood head and shoulders above me, yet he was no more intimidating than the wild cats I had handled since boyhood. I showed neither fear nor cruelty, only calm expectation. His gaze dropped to the whip before returning to my face.

He sat.

"Good," I said with an approving nod. He held his head higher at the praise.

Next I took out the chain and the lock. I wondered if Otto suspected what they were for, now that he understood I did not want him to subdue me.

It was a length of the lightweight chain he used for one particular feat of strength. I stood before him with it draped between my hands, palms up.

"Arms out," I said.

I had seen this done more times than I could count, and had even assisted on a few occasions, but when he obeyed now, the air around us thickened with a different sort of anticipation than in the show tent.

"Good."

I looped the chain behind his back and brought the ends together over his breastbone. Gauging the appropriate tightness so it would stay in place without restricting his breathing, I closed the padlock around two links. Otto lowered his arms at my gesture.

"You could break this chain with a breath," I said. 

He nodded. 

"Don't."

He swallowed, then nodded again.

"Lie down."

With each command, Otto hesitated less. He turned and lay back on the bed. He couldn't seem to decide where to put his arms; finally, he clasped his hands over his stomach. Even from this distance, I could see his heartbeat pound in his throat.

"Good. You're being very good, Otto. I'm pleased."

Unlike many others in the beast-training trade, I subscribed to the philosophy of positive reinforcement rather than brute force. Otto was no animal, of course, no matter his stage name or the assumptions some people made about brawn and brain; but I thought to apply similar principles to our experiment tonight.

I stood over Otto, enjoying this reversal of our heights. "I'm not going to hold you down. I couldn't if I wanted to. I won't tie you, either. I want you to hold yourself in place. Do you understand?"

He met my gaze. "Yes, Henri."

I couldn't very well feed Otto a piece of raw meat each time he performed an action I requested. Instead, I began rewarding him with touches in addition to the spoken praise. When he obeyed my command to move his left foot to the left corner of the bed, then his right foot to the other corner, I rested my hand on his ankle. When he moved his hands to his sides as bidden, I traced the dip between muscle and bone along his thick forearm.

I drew my hand further up his arm, across his shoulder, over the cords of his neck, to the side of his face, which I had grown to know so well in the time since he had joined the troupe, yet had never touched. 

"Close your eyes," I asked, testing boundaries. Once more, Otto obeyed without complaint. "Good. You're doing so well."

I realized I could reach him more easily if I sat on the bed, but the way I had positioned Otto left no room. After a moment's thought, I slid my fingers beneath his arm and nudged him upward; he lifted it, blind and trusting, and let me guide his hand to rest upon my thigh as I settled with my hip beside his. He gave my leg the lightest of squeezes before subsiding. Suffused with warmth, I allowed it.

I leaned forward and stroked his smooth head, which he kept shaved for effect. Otto shifted and made a low sound of pleasure. Nonetheless, he managed to remain in place well enough that he needed no reprimand. I caressed his brow, the broad bones of his cheeks, the curves of his ears, the robust mustache, the supple lower lip, the divot in his chin. 

"You may open them again," I said. 

He watched me from beneath heavy lids as I petted the hair on his chest, then fingered the chain. Although his breathing had quickened, his ribs rose and fell more shallowly than usual so as not to risk his breaking free. 

I worried the padlock between my fingers. "Is this in danger?"

He shook his head.

"Good."

I ran my hand from his chest to his midsection, taking a playful moment to circle his navel. That earned a soft exhale of a laugh before I followed the line of hair down to his drawers. 

There, I discovered Otto's muscles weren't the only parts of him that bulged.

"How strong are you truly?" I asked. I held Otto's gaze as I attempted a wicked test: I spread my hand in the air over the distended cloth, close enough to detect the heat emanating from him. He could easily have lifted himself to meet my palm, or for that matter could have grabbed hold of me and urged me to do as he wished—but he did not.

Slowly, I moved my other hand to my hip and circled my thumb over the whip handle. Otto broke our gaze to fix on the motion. His hand clenched on my thigh only a few centimeters away, until after a moment he relaxed it.

His eyes fell shut and he grunted when I pressed my hand into him. Still he did not move.

"Very good," I said. Whether it served as reward or further torment, swiftly I caressed the length of him, then snatched my hand away. He twitched and groaned but managed not to raise his hips to chase my touch.

Again I teased him with my fingers, from the base to the damp spot at the tip; again I denied him more. A pause, then I gave him a third taste of what he could enjoy if he obeyed his body rather than my command. He trembled, but still his limbs remained in place, still the chain held.

"Oh, excellently done, Otto," I said, and, dropping the act, I gave him a few good squeezes. "I'm going to remove your drawers."

"Yes, Henri."

"You may move your legs to assist."

I untied the laces and carefully worked the undergarment down. Otto shifted on the bed to help, and when he lay bare, he resumed his original position without being asked.

He was as impressive-looking naked and wanting as he was when hoisting an impossible weight over his head one-handed. "Magnificent," I declared, leaving it to Otto to determine whether I meant his behavior or his physique. "Would you prefer your own hand or mine?"

He squinted at me as though this were some new test. "Yours."

"Then you shall have it." After considering the logistics, I climbed onto the bed, straddled his legs and sat back. 

"I—" Otto stopped as soon as he began. I regarded him with eyebrows raised. "Is it all right to speak?"

An amusing question from a man of so few words. "Of course."

"I… like your weight upon me."

I smiled at that; he smiled back, albeit with more strain due to his unattended-to state. "I'm glad." On a whim, I leaned on the bones of his hips. "Do you like this?"

He nodded.

"And this?" I shifted forward to press both palms to his chest above the chain, resting more of my weight on them than I would have dared with anyone else.

Another nod.

"You could throw me from this bed as effortlessly as a boy swats a fly," I remarked, staring down at him. "The question is, are you strong enough to keep your strength in check?"

I left one hand on his chest as I moved back. Enough teasing: I took hold of him. 

Otto lost his words then. He groaned and shook with the struggle to remain still as I stroked him, slow and steady. One knee flexed and was quickly subdued. The muscles of his belly tightened and relaxed. His hands convulsed as though they wanted to clench into fists.

It wasn't until I moved my thumb on him as I had done on the whip handle that he broke.

His hips rose, his thighs spread beneath me and his head fell back as he moaned, low and deep.

"Ah," I chastised him, and lifted my hand away. He made a noise of complaint and moved to catch my arm, then swore when he realized what he'd done.

He slumped into the bed. "I'm sorry, Henri."

Even with his face pinched in need, he appeared ready to accept whatever punishment I deemed fit, perhaps including an end to this encounter.

There was no need to go that far for an honest lapse in control, especially since it had resulted from Otto being overwhelmed by pleasure. I wanted him to feel good, not to be denied what he'd been seeking. I did have an idea, however, that involved putting him in a position of greater vulnerability.

"It's all right," I said. "Will it happen again?"

"No."

"Good. Put your arms over your head."

He complied immediately. First he tried extending them straight out behind him, but as he found no support there, he bent them and held the edge of the bed instead. He gave me a questioning look, at which I nodded.

There was, alas, a consequence of this new arrangement I had not anticipated: the chain had pulled tight around his ribs.

I worked a finger beneath the links with some difficulty. It would be harder than before for Otto to avoid snapping the restraints. "Shall I loosen this?" The key, should we have need of it, remained in the bag.

He shook his head.

I must have still looked uncertain, because he added, "I can do this. I won't disappoint you."

Oh, Otto. My dear, determined friend.

I resumed the movements that had pushed him to the edge. This time, though he stiffened, he controlled himself.

Otto's trembling intensified as the seconds passed. His thighs went taut and tense as guy lines. Sweat beaded on his chin and brow.

I changed the angle of my grip, then tightened it. The chain creaked. The tendons in his neck, the muscles in his chest and in his arms spread like wings, stood out in extraordinary definition.

"Faster," Otto begged, his voice strained and his face nearly as red as his mustache. "Ah, please."

I indulged him. 

Otto's breaths came in pants. His native tongue began bleeding into his French as he muttered words I could not discern. The whole bed shook.

" _Bitte, bitte_. Please, Henri."

With my free hand, I stroked the soft skin of his inner thigh. Otto shouted. 

There came a loud _crack_ and we lurched forward, the head of the bed suddenly lower than the foot. For a moment, all was confusion. Had the earth moved? Had one of the elephants escaped and disturbed the tent? I caught myself on one arm, then blinked at the return of the previous stillness. 

Somehow, my other hand had remained wrapped around Otto's member. Though I must have squeezed him terribly hard when fear had seized me, he voiced no complaints; indeed, my hand was wet with his release. He lay slack with his eyes closed, recovering his breath, as though nothing had transpired other than his climax.

When at last he opened his eyes, he lifted his hands to reveal two splintered pegs. Ah: he had snapped the legs of the bed! In his effort to remain still, his tension must have concentrated in his fists.

Otto gave me a sheepish smile. I laughed, and he responded with a chuckle deep in his chest. 

Shaking my head, I slid off the tilted bed and retrieved Otto's discarded drawers. I cleaned my hand, then dabbed him dry as well. Otto gripped the padlock in one hand and the chain in the other; with a moment's work, he wrenched them apart. He tossed the lock to the floor, then heaved into an enormous stretch. The arch of his back and the spread of his toes reminded me despite myself of the lions after a good nap.

That done, he rearranged himself so he lay with his head at what had recently been the foot of the bed. I supposed the slope would feel less disconcerting in that direction.

" _Komm hier_ ," he said drowsily, patting the mattress. "Lie with me."

Otto and I had spoken on a few occasions of my own drives, or rather lack thereof; nevertheless, to be certain, I said, not without fondness, "You know I do not harbor such desires."

He hummed. "I do. A pity. But I mean nothing more than that: Lie beside me, if it please you."

It did please me. 

I tossed the whip onto the bag to prevent any untoward digging, turned down the lantern and removed my slippers and robe. Then I lay on my side on the bed, face to face with Otto, who had pushed himself onto one shoulder to accommodate me. 

When I had settled, he cupped the side of my head in one large hand. His calluses scratched pleasantly along my cheek and ear.

"Do I remember… You like kissing, yes?" he asked.

"I do."

"May I kiss you?"

I failed to contain a smile. "You may."

Otto kissed well: tender and sweet. I was sorry when it ended.

Afterwards, he regarded me with an intensity I didn't often see in him outside of practice and performance. "Thank you."

"It was my honor and delight."

He shifted onto his back with a sigh. I followed, resting half atop him, my head on his shoulder and my arm around his chest. I stroked the bumps where the chain had dug into him. He combed his fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes.

"I wish there were a way to return the favor," he murmured.

"Your pleasure is satisfaction enough."

"That is kind," he said, "although it would make things easier if I had something to offer you."

"How so?"

He hesitated. "I do not wish to ask for more than you care to give."

"However…" I prompted.

"However… If I should ever again… Would you be willing…?"

I tightened my embrace for a moment. "Of course, friend. I would be glad to broaden my expertise into the training of an Ox." Impishly, I added, "Perhaps it would sell more tickets."

Otto gave a quiet laugh that transformed into a yawn. "Perhaps we should keep an eye out for potential troupe members as well. Think what you and I could do with a sword swallower."

The nudge I gave him with the top of my head was the last thing I recalled before we drifted to sleep on the broken bed.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Research notes:** I learned about positive reinforcement-based lion-training techniques from articles at [HowStuffWorks](https://entertainment.howstuffworks.com/arts/circus-arts/lion-taming.htm) and [The Guardian](https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2018/feb/28/britains-last-lion-tamer-its-not-the-archaic-victorian-practice-people-imagine). Henri is named after Henri Martin, a pioneer of accustoming circus tigers to humans. Meanwhile, Otto's ribcage trick is based on a feat performed by Pierre Gasnier, "the French Hercules," according to [Vintage News](https://www.thevintagenews.com/2017/05/20/ten-strongmen-and-their-fascinating-feats-of-strength/).
> 
> I… do not know a lot about mid- to late 19th-century European circuses. Would a traveling troupe like this have resided in tents or in train cars? Might their beds have had wooden frames with legs? Who knows? Not me, and not any of the sources I frantically dug up in the two and a half days in which I wrote this story. If you happen to know, I'm open to modifying the text for greater historical realism.


End file.
